My Secret Admirer – Seventeen

It’s time for this week’s LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG secret admirer big reveal! This week we did not have a winner, so click the trophy for another whacked out post.

Here’s a recap of Friday’s post as well as my response at the bottom. If you’d like a free copy of my ebook take a guess or send a love letter gone wrong to heellisgoa@gmail.com.

*************

My dearest H. E.:

I am so glad I found you through the magic of the internet, because when I first laid eyes on your blog, I knew you were destined to be in a box under my bed. Just like the girl who was kept captive in a box under someone’s bed in California in the late ’70s and early ’80s, you will of course be allowed to be outside of the box once I’m off work. Unlike that case, though, there will be no torture involved (who do you take me for, after all?). In fact, I won’t be abducting you while you are hitchhiking, like happened in that case, because I can’t afford the gas after all. I just know that YOU know that you belong in a box under my bed, and you will drive here. It would help if you’d bring the box too, because I don’t really like to do all that much when I’m not at work. But, I will make an exception for you, because of the fact that we are destined to be together.

So, if that’s the case (that you are too lazy to build your own box) please send me all your measurements and how much extra room you think you need in the box, and I’ll commence to building the damn thing. Let’s not overdo the size of it though; I don’t have a whole lot of headroom in the place, and I don’t really need to climb up in my bed with a stepladder. Of course, there’ll be a lot of “headroom” in the whole place for you. There will be “headroom” for us everywhere you and I go. If you play your cards right, I may spend some time in your box with you. I think the two of us might have some fun there, in your velvet-lined box.

The box will need to have ventilation, lighting, and some sort of bathroom facility built into it, so it would help if you could design all that in too. I can tell that you are one of those modern women who can do such things, and figure all kinds of things out for yourself, and that the only time you will need to be submissive to any man is when I snap my fingers and tell you that it’s time for you to serve me in some way.

Your box will have to have an internet connection in it and you will be allowed to have a laptop, because I really enjoy your blog and you will want to keep communicating with the rest of the world with it, when you are not communicating with me by giving me lip service. Plus you will want to work on your next novel, as we will need the extra income now that I will have an extra mouth to feed. Maybe you could start a second blog; you could call it “Thoughts from my box” or “The world according to my box” or “I’ve got more going on in my plush little box than you do in your whole house” dot wordpress dot com, or some such thing.

Obviously you won’t need much for clothes at first; I will keep the heat up higher than I usually would while I’m at work, so that you can always be wearing nothing but lingerie. Once I’m sure that you’ve “got your mind right” and aren’t going to think that you need more from life than a box under my bed and to serve me, daily, (hourly on weekends), then you will be allowed to spend more time outside the box. I don’t expect you to be “thinking outside the box”, though, unless it’s to be thinking of ways to make me even happier. I could go on and on about how much enjoyment your box will bring to both of us, but I think I’ve spent enough time fixating on your box for one night, don’t you?

Ever awaiting my chance to first lay eyes on your box,

I remain,

Your faithful servant

**************

Dear Faithful Servant,

How kind of you to think of giving me a box! I’ve always wanted one, you know. When I was in kindergarten I told my teacher I wanted a box and she gave me a small, narrow pink one that I didn’t think would hold anything bigger than a crayon, but somehow it accommodated even the largest pencils!

As I got a little older I told my mother I wanted a box but she said I was “confused.”Then I told the Pastor at my church about my want of a box, and he told me to pray so I wouldn’t get one. That made me really confused.

Finally I saw a doctor and told him about my box dreams. He told me to move to Colorado Springs and wear a dress for a year. Not sure what that has to do with a box, but I’ve grown to like how the silk feels against my skin.

I like the idea of you spending time with me in my box. I’m only 4’11” so there may not be much room for you to fit. You may have to cram yourself in there. I’m sure we can make it work.

Dear Confused–
You know, it’s weird, but (though I was married for 7 years and had a baby with another gal later), even though I’ve always thought of myself as a heterosexual man who sucks so bad at seduction that he couldn’t get laid in a whorehouse, I realize now, after seeing the DELIGHTFUL pic of the guy in the box from Friday, that I have to have him! That is the embodiment of HOT! Your pink box, though a garden of delights I’m sure, is now passe. And what is it with southern Colorado, anyway, I wonder? Why did a doc set up a clinic in a backwater town like Trinidad, to whack dicks completely off? Weird.
Bloody frickin’ nice of you to include me in your circle of craziness–I brag you up whene’er I can, young lady. Even though I have now decided to go to the dark side, bat for the wrong team, become light in the loafers, develop fashion sense, clean the dirt out from under my fingernails, buy scented candles, go to craft shows, HOST craft shows, do whatever it takes to stalk and find and be with the man in the box from your Friday post, I would make an exception for you if you were unattached, if you would visit here on your way to Colorado, and if you were exceptionally drunk. I would try to cram myself in there.
Enough yappin’ from me, thanks,
Your semi-faithful servant

Reblogged this on Trailertrashdeluxe's Blog and commented:
I hate to blow my own horn, because it’s unseemly, and it usually leads to pulled muscles in odd places, but I had a small part in this post from one of my blogging heroes, accomplished author H. E. Ellis. I like her stuff so much that if she were a guy, I’d start batting for the other side and blow her horn. Does that even make any sense? It doesn’t matter.